


Loss and Hunger

by lennyangel



Category: Tanz der Vampire - Steinman/Kunze
Genre: A sort of origin story, Death of OC, Gen, Kind of ponderous, Sad, but happy ending????, very vague descriptions of feeding and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 14:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19336546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennyangel/pseuds/lennyangel
Summary: A man takes his sickly wife for a walk, unaware this is the last day either of them will have





	Loss and Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> I am obsessed with this musical. This was inspired by the verse in "The Insatiable Greed" where Von Krolock sings about 1617.

The sun shone down on the fields of grain, illuminating the stalks to look like gold. There was not even a wisp of cloud in the brilliant blue sky. 

A man and woman, arm in arm, made their way slowly through the grass. Their clothes were rich, with delicate designs and large collars and sleeves. However, they wore them loosely for the warmth of the day. The woman stumbled and the man bent to lift her up.

“I think I would like to sit here awhile, my love.” She said. The man helped her down and she leaned against him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, anxiously. His black hair was brushed back from his forehead and tied with a simple black ribbon at the back. He relaxed at the soft smile on his companion’s face.

“The sun, the wind, and being with you, I feel wonderful.” She lay back softly, tugging him down with a weak hand. He tucked an arm beneath her, so she could lean against his chest. She hummed slightly while stroking his cheek absentmindedly. While it trembled, he was amazed how soft and warm it still was. Warm as the sun on the faces, though it seemed to him his skin felt an itch on the point of pain as it never had before.

They lay like that while the sun dipped lower in the sky. Eventually the woman spoke, her voice soft.

“Do you remember when we met, my love?”

“Yes. I remember thinking you were the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I was an arrogant young man though and assumed you would marry me right away.”

She giggled.

“You’re still an arrogant man.” She chided gently. “Thinking you could heal my illness alone.”

The man’s face stiffened.

“Not alone.” He whispered. “But I still can. I still can.”

“Do you remember when Herbert was born?” the woman asked, not wanting to have the same argument again.

“Yes. I remember thinking, I had not known true love until that moment. Until I saw his face, all pink and round, I had always known a selfishness in love. But for him, for him I would be selfless.” The woman hummed happily into his chest. “I remember being so excited to watch him grow into a man. And I am pleased I am leaving him so well situated; he has a good manner, a kind temperament, a good education.”

“You are not leaving him.”

“Oh, my love, I am. I am leaving you both. But I will always be watching over you, you know that.”

“No, I can save you, I am so close, I just need a little more time.”

He had holed himself up in his study for hours at first, which turned into days which turned into weeks. He would go out at night and not return until morning. He had many strange travellers come and stay but never did they mingle with the rest of his household. But it would all be worth it. Already he felt a change in himself. A strength. A knowledge. He was close.

There was one more thing he needed, and while he didn’t know what it was, he felt a great fear. Yet, as he looked down at her peaceful face in the orange glow of the sunset, he knew it would be worth it.

“I love you.” She whispered, closing her eyes. The walk must have exhausted her. It was the most she’d done in months. But when she had called for him, and demanded, in her gentle way, to be taken for a walk by him, and him alone, he had acquiesced.

It had been weeks since he had spent any significant time with her, he had realised with a pang of regret. He had been so close to his breakthrough; he had neglected her. But soon they would have all the time in the world. All the time the world had to offer.   


“I love you too.” He whispered back. But her mouth didn’t twitch into a smile of recognition.

He said her name.

Her face remained still. Had she fallen asleep? But a panic gripped his heart. He called her name again moving to cup her face in his hand.

Her head lolled in a grotesque manner. The red of the sunset painted her face in a sick red colour. In despair, he lifted her to him, calling her name in anguish. But she was gone.

He was left alone, alone in the dark, abandoned by light and love and hope.

He had been so close. So close. One more day, one more night. He cursed the sun for abandoning him, cursed its light and warmth for false hope it had given, for being so beautiful she hadn’t been able to resist.

He cried, he cried open mouthed like a child, he cried angrily, he placed his head on her chest and cried for the embrace he had forever lost. In the moonless dark, he did not see the stain that appeared on her bodice from his tears.

After a time, he could cry no more. He lifted her body and carried her back to their home. The castle loomed like a shadow, the lights through the windows looking like many angry eyes.

He ignored the cries of the servants, ignored their horrified recoiling, and took his wife to her bedchamber. He placed her on her bed. For a moment, her limp body repulsed him, and wished only to flee from its hideousness. But the man who had loved her arranged her hands on her stomach, tidied her hair and straightened her dress.

Now he noticed the stain, like blood, on her dress. As he leaned to inspect it, another drop fell onto the dress. In horror, he reached for his face and pulled back his fingers to reveal the blood that was flowing from his eyes instead of tears.

Aghast, he fled from the room. He wailed in the halls, running past servants, lords, ladies, visitors, their faces and bodies becoming blurs in the candlelight.

Eventually he arrived at his son’s room. His son. His true love, the one shimmer of light left to him in a world that had held so much pain and loss.

“Father?” Herbert asked blearily, stumbling from his bed. “Father, are you….oh no, mother?” he asked, discerning from his father’s distress that what they had apprehensively waited for had finally come to pass.

 Herbert rushed to his father, and they embraced, crying their shared loss.

And as the man embraced his son, he realised he could not lose anymore. No. He would not lose anymore. God had forsaken him, and love had failed him, and all his efforts and hope had been in vain. So he would take. He would take and hoard and give in to his greed. He would not lose, ever again. And he would not lose his son.

“It’s alright though Father, we can relax now. You can relax now. She is at peace. She is with God. She….!”

The young man could barely cry out as his father’s teeth sunk into his neck. The older man clung tight as his son flailed and hit and eventually went limp in his grasp. When the life pulse of his son flickered out, he pulled back with a gasp. How delicious. How wonderous. Never had he tasted anything so sweet. Never had he felt so invigorated.

His joy was short lived however, as he cradled the lifeless body of his only child in his arms.

“No.” he whispered. Herbert’s eyes were glassy and his mouth was frozen in his last cry.

“No.” he called it out, hugging his son to himself.

Too many thoughts rushed through his head, too much guilt and pain and anger. He held his boy and sang to him. Sang to him a lullaby he had not sung since the young man was but a babe in arms. All the memories of this lad, who giggled and hugged and explored and would cry for his father when he fell. Of his son, who had gone off to be educated, and written letter after letter, who had returned to embrace his parents. Gone. All gone.

So enwrapped in grief was he that he did not notice the servants who came to check. He was deaf to their gasps. To the sound of their running. Of the cries.

“The Count has killed his son! The Count has killed his son!”  


There was uproar in the castle. But the Count cared for none of it, holding his son and softly singing.

As the sun rose, the Count carried his son down into the crypt, and placed in an empty tomb. He then got in beside his son and slept a deeper sleep than he ever had before.

 

When the Count awoke, he sat up with a clear head. He understood – what he was and what he needed to do to survive. A stirring beside him made him turn.

Herbert sat up beside him.

“Father?”

“My son!” The Count embraced him. “How do you feel?”

Herbert grinned at him, revealing two sharp fangs where his canines once were.

“Hungry.”


End file.
